


Bumps And Bruises

by loves_books



Category: A-Team (2010), A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, More angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-25 01:10:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Face has to get a seriously injured Hannibal to safety after their jeep crashes, through a forest crawling with enemy soldiers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bumps And Bruises

Fog of pain. Smoke. Fire somewhere nearby. Darkness, his eyes refusing to open. Shouting, a vaguely familiar voice calling to him. Distant, though, and unimportant. Pain. Slip back into the waiting darkness – 

“Hannibal! Open your eyes, dammit!”

He did recognise that voice, though, through the pain. Face. His boy, his lieutenant. His love. Might be important after all.

“Hannibal! Wake up, boss, we gotta move!” Face sounded closer that time, as Hannibal’s hearing cleared up ever so slightly, and he could suddenly make out the crackle and hiss of flames. Very close by.

He coughed slightly, fighting to force his eyes open, not able to find his voice but suddenly aware of someone touching his face, trying to rouse him. 

“…Face…?” he eventually managed to croak, cracking his eyes open at last only to see nothing but more darkness and billowing smoke. A hint of twisted metal in the lurking shadows. “What happened? Where…?”

“I gotta get you out of here, boss. You with me?” A blur of motion through the smoke by Hannibal’s side, a pale face backlit by flames, and suddenly he was aware of exactly where he was.

“Jeep?” Hannibal coughed, and the blurry figure moved in what could have been a nod.

“That’s right, Hannibal. The jeep went over the edge of the cliff, remember?” Of course – an explosion, a landmine perhaps, on a narrow road beside a steep drop. Rolling, bouncing…

“Taylor?” Their driver, a good kid.

“Dead.” Not the answer Hannibal wanted to hear, but there was something else in Face’s voice… “I gotta get you out of here before the whole damn thing goes up in flames. You with me? Where does it hurt?”

“I’m fine.” Instinctive but incorrect, as Hannibal discovered when he tried to move his too-heavy body. He gasped in sudden pain as the world tilted again around him – “Shit, kid, no I’m not. Left leg, hip… And my head…”

A small explosion somewhere very close, the sound echoing in Hannibal’s ears and drowning out the precise swear-words Face hissed. 

“This is gonna hurt, then, but I’m sorry, John – I have to move you. Right the hell now.” Strong hands jammed under his shoulders, and Hannibal tried to help, he really did. Instead, he only managed to nod his throbbing head once.

“Do it, Temp.” At the first movement, that pain spiked sharply through his body, and he tumbled willingly back down into the darkness.

* * *

The next time Hannibal managed to open his eyes, he felt a bit more connected, more alive, though his head still throbbed painfully with every beat of his heart, and he felt almost disconnected from his body. The memory of the crash came back to him all at once – Taylor dead, Face dragging him from the wreckage of their burning jeep, smoke, explosions. 

“Face?” The kid should have been right there, surely, Hannibal thought as he slowly took stock of his position. He was lying flat on his back, bundled beneath the familiar silver foil of an emergency blanket. No fire, despite the darkness of the sky above, and the tall trees around him seemed to tower over him ominously, moving and swaying in the slight breeze. Of course, it had been nothing but thick forest at the bottom of the cliff. “Kid, you here?”

He tried to move, tried to sit up, but pain stabbed immediately through his skull and he slammed his eyes shut, breathing hard. In the same moment, the entire left side of his body erupted in agony, and he couldn’t hold back a gasp of pain.

Rustling sounds, movement, then a cool hand on his forehead. “Easy, Hannibal. You back with me again? It’s okay – breathe, boss, just breathe. It’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay, clearly, but Hannibal managed to take a few slow breaths, letting the pain flow through him and out, away, as much as he could before blinking his eyes back open to the night. Above him, Face was pale and clearly worried in the dim light from the moon and the stars above them. “Hey, kid,” he managed to croak, and his boy smiled down at him, even though it was a weak, pathetic smile.

“You had me worried, Hannibal,” Face told him, voice soft yet strong. “You’ve been out for quite a while. Quite a lump on your head, too.” Cool fingers stroked from Hannibal’s forehead back into his hair, touching something behind his left ear that sent spikes of pain through him again and wrung a whimper from his lips. “Sorry, sorry,” Face soothed, crouching carefully by his side, one arm wrapped loosely around his stomach.

After another few minutes had slipped away, Hannibal managed to ask, “Where are we?”

“Away from the jeep. Militia crawling all over the place already – had to keep us moving.” Something strange in Face’s voice, but before Hannibal could start to worry, his boy had carried right on talking. “I’ve been stopping every half hour, trying to cover our tracks.”

It was only at that point that Hannibal realised he wasn’t lying on the cold ground, but on an improvised stretcher. Something tight around his legs and around his chest, under his arms, presumably stopping him sliding off when Face, most likely, dragged him along. “Face…”

“I couldn’t exactly throw you over my shoulder, now, could I?” That fake smile was back again, but Face did have a point. “How’s the hip?”

“Hurts.” A real understatement, actually, as the waves of pain were definitely centred around his left hip. If he’d broken the damn thing, Face would never let him live it down – Hannibal got enough teasing about his age already.

But Face only nodded. “Don’t think your leg is broken, but I’ve splinted it just in case. No way to know for sure about your hip, but I’ve got a pelvic brace on you too. Just lie still and let me do all the work, okay? We have to keep moving.”

Hannibal’s eyes were growing heavy again, his body urging him back to sleep despite his brain screaming at him to get up and move, to help. “Sorry, Temp…” he managed to breath, blinking heavily.

“Ssh,” Face murmured, and a gentle kiss landed on Hannibal’s forehead as his eyes suddenly refused to open again. “Sleep, boss. I’ll take care of it.” Then nothing.

* * *

It was the pain that woke him the next time, jolts of pain shooting through his body, down his legs, across his belly, up his back, and he heard moaning even before he managed to open his eyes. It took Hannibal a long minute to realise the moaning was coming from him.

“Hang in there, boss.” The words drifted down to him in the darkness, comforting despite the strain he could hear in that familiar voice, rough where it was usually so smooth. “Just another minute and I can stop.”

Moving. He was moving, or rather he was being dragged across rough ground, his whole body jolting with each step his boy took. “Face, please…” Hannibal hated that his voice was that pathetic, but the pain was becoming unbearable – he didn’t want to scream, knew that was a bad idea. The forest was crawling with militia, men they had pissed off royally who would be looking for them both, men who would be more than pleased to capture two Rangers and torture them for days on end. He gritted his teeth hard, practically biting his tongue in half as the dragging motion continued, his body tilted on the stretcher, feet to the ground and head to the air, the bands around his chest and legs keeping him secure but biting into him even through the layers of his clothes. “Stop, kid, shit…”

“Easy, Hannibal. I got you.” Finally the agonising motion stopped, and Hannibal felt his stretcher being lowered until he was once again lying flat on the uneven ground. There was a grunt from Face, a grunt of strain most likely at having to haul Hannibal’s bulk through this forest – his lover was strong, obviously, but Hannibal was all too aware he was no lightweight. 

“Face?” he asked, eyes still shut, head rolling slightly on the ground. His headache seemed to have eased a little, thankfully, though the world still felt like it was spinning wildly around him. He tried to force his eyes open, knowing he had to take some control of his traitorous body, but the effort seemed futile at that moment.

“Right here,” came that rough voice, soft words whispered close by his head, and a gentle hand cupped his cheek as Hannibal finally cracked one eye open a fraction. Face was pale in the moonlight, dirt and smoke smeared across his handsome features, but his smile was bright despite the lines of tension and exhaustion Hannibal could see. 

Hannibal frowned, breathing deeply as the world settled around him, both eyes open at last. “You okay, kid?”

Face simply nodded before turning, reaching for something. “Think you could drink some water for me, boss?” he asked, producing a flask from out of nowhere, and Hannibal was suddenly painfully aware of just how dry his throat was. 

“Hell yes,” he breathed gratefully, and let his lover slip a tender hand beneath his head, lifting him up enough to sip at the blessedly cool water. The world shifted around him slightly at the movement, though nowhere near as badly as before, and Hannibal ignored it as he gulped the water down greedily.

“Go easy, there,” Face cautioned him, lifting away the flask for a minute. Hannibal hated the whimper that escaped him at that moment, but his lover just smiled again before lowering it back to his lips. “Slowly or you’ll make yourself sick. You should know better than that, Colonel.”

Forcing himself to sip slower, Hannibal eventually felt he’d had enough and nodded for Face to take it away. “That’s all well and good in theory, kid,” he murmured as his boy lowered him gently back to the ground. “Harder in practise.”

Face took a few slow sips of water himself, settling back on his heels by Hannibal’s side, one hand resting loosely over his stomach as he caught his breath, looking cautiously around at the dark trees that surrounded them. Hannibal realised he was lying on the edge of a clearing – Face clearly hadn’t wanted to stop in the deeper darkness of the forest, where they could be easily ambushed and caught. 

“How’s the pain?” his lover asked him eventually, screwing the lid back onto the flask and stowing it away in the small backpack Hannibal hadn’t spotted until that minute. “First aid kit was trashed, unfortunately, in the crash, so I can’t offer you anything.”

Hannibal took stock of his body, tensing his muscles carefully and wriggling his fingers and toes, catching his breath sharply when that agony flared up again in his left side. “I’ve had worse,” he gasped determinedly, screwing his eyes shut tightly as Face stroked gentle fingers over his brow. “Don’t think I’ve got any chance of walking out of here, though. You should leave me, get to safety – ”

A low growl from his boy, and how predictable was that. “No fucking way,” Face told him. “No one gets left behind, you taught me that.”

“You could send back help.” Hannibal managed to force his eyes open again, swallowing back his agony and meeting his lover’s eyes, bright but colourless in the darkness of the night. “Hide me somewhere and just go.”

Face just shook his head, shouldering his little backpack once again, the tiniest wince passing over his features as he twisted his body. “Not a chance. Not in a million years. If they find you, you know what they’ll do to you.” 

And Hannibal did know. Even though they were both dressed in civilian clothing, the unmistakable tattoo on Hannibal’s arm would mark him out as a Ranger. Torture, certainly. Death, most probably, long before Face would be able to guide rescuers to his last location. But still, he had to try – “Face, kid, I could make it an order.”

“I don’t think you’re in any condition to be giving me orders right now, Colonel.” A valid point, perhaps, as the pain thrumming through Hannibal’s body threatened to send him tumbling back into unconsciousness once more. Face fell still beside him, hands braced on his knees. “Besides, the second jeep didn’t go over the cliff with us. They’ll have radioed for help already. They’ll find us.” 

A sign of how bad his injuries were, if ever he’d needed one: Hannibal had forgotten all about that second jeep, driving behind their lead vehicle as they returned to their base. “Of course…” he mumbled, letting his eyes fall closed again. 

Another grunt from Face as his lover pushed himself to his feet. “We gotta keep moving, Hannibal – it’ll be light soon. I’ve hidden our tracks well enough for now, but they’ll be able to catch up with us if I don’t put enough distance between us and them while I can.” A note of apology in his boy’s voice. “You need to try and stay quiet. I really wish I could give you something for the pain. I could… I don’t know, I could knock you out, if you want, perhaps?”

Hannibal snorted softly with laughter, a darkness different from the blackness of night swirling at the edges of his vision now. “I appreciate the thought, Temp, but I think I’m gonna just pass out when you start to move me,” he whispered. “If that’s okay?”

“That’s fine, John.” Gentle fingers stroked once more over his forehead, down his cheek, then they were gone. Hannibal braced himself for the motion as best he could, but as soon as Face lifted the head of his little stretcher he couldn’t hold back the cry of pain before he was out cold once more.

* * *

Something was very wrong. Instinctively, Hannibal held his breath as he crawled back to consciousness yet again – everything in him told him he wasn’t safe, he had to be as still as he could possibly be.

It was morning, he could tell that much when he opened his eyes, even though he was very surprised to find himself buried beneath a pile of branches and leaves. The early morning sunlight drifted through to him though, and he found a moment to be very grateful it wasn’t the rainy season at least. The leaves were dry and rustled as he moved his head ever so slightly, and immediately he stilled, breathing out slowly through his nose and listening carefully, trusting his instincts. What was going on?

Voices close by. Shouting, angry calls in Spanish, heavy footsteps through dry grass, sounds of rustling branches as people pushed carelessly through the forest. Militia, it had to be. Hannibal’s foggy brain didn’t have to concentrate too hard to be able to translate the angry shouts. Death to the American spies, death to all enemies – how terribly original.

Hannibal carefully kept his breathing as shallow as he could, tensing his limbs to see if he was free or still attached to his stretcher. A flare of hot pain up his left side nearly sent him tumbling back into blackness, threatening to wring a scream out of him, and he just about bit clean through his tongue trying to stay silent and still. With that action came the realisation that he couldn’t have moved even if he was free, though he was now aware once more of the bands around his body keeping him on the makeshift stretcher beneath him. Face clearly hadn’t had time to do more than cover him up before the militia caught up with them both.

Face. Had his boy left him behind and gone for help? The thought filled Hannibal with an irrational panic for just a second, before he mentally shook his head. If Face really had gone on ahead for help, then good – he should really have left Hannibal long ago, in the darkness of the night when he could have made faster progress, instead of dragging his useless lump of a colonel through the forest and leaving a trail for the militia to follow. But Hannibal understood all too well just why Face had stayed with him. He wouldn’t have been able to leave a man behind either, knowing he was alive and injured, let alone leave his lover.

Those footsteps and shouts were coming closer all the time, and Hannibal tried to count the voices, tried to figure out how many he was up against. Despite the fog still clouding his thoughts, he made it to seven before he decided he was probably better off not knowing. Far too many for him to fight alone, even if he could have made it to his feet without passing out. All he could do was stay as still as he possibly could and pray his lover had hidden him well. 

Closer still, and Hannibal knew they were nearly upon him. How would they find him, he wondered idly; had Face left one of his boots partially uncovered, or would they simply step right on him, falling over in a heap into the leaves and branches? The thought almost made him smile – if one of them stepped on his bad hip, perhaps he would be unconscious again before they got their hands on him.

Suddenly, silence fell as they stopped shouting to each other, though the rustling of footsteps told Hannibal they were still moving around him. Then a distant call, an echoing voice from far off, and all movement stopped. The distant voice came again, too distant for Hannibal to make out the words though the anger came across clearly, followed by the unmistakable retort of a gunshot, and immediately chaos seemed to erupt around him. The angry shouts were back – Hannibal distinctly heard one of them say another group of their men must have found one of the ‘scum-sucking American pigs’ – and then the pounding footsteps retreated into the depths of the forest.

They were gone so quickly that Hannibal almost felt he might have dreamed the whole thing, lying unable to move beneath a mountain of leaves and fallen branches. He still didn’t dare move, not that he really had much choice in the matter, just in case one or two of the men had stayed behind to continue their search of the area, and so he kept still, straining to listen over the sound of his own blood pulsing through his veins.

Time seemed endless as the silence grew around him. Gradually, Hannibal found he could make out the sounds of the trees rustling gently in the wind, could even hear a few birds chirping happily to themselves as the sun continued to rise in the sky, and he was fairly sure he was alone. No more shouting, no more gunshots.

What on earth was he supposed to do now, he wondered. If the militia really had found Face, then he was on his own – he had to find a way to move, had to get free, had to force his broken body up, and had to plan a rescue for his precious lover. But as soon as he tensed his arms, seeing if there was any way he could get loose from the bonds his lieutenant had used to keep him on the stretcher, that agony flared up again and he whimpered involuntarily, eyes slamming shut of their own free will. 

For another long minute he just lay still beneath his blanket of leaves, fighting the pull of unconsciousness and fighting the rising tide of helplessness that coursed through him. If Face was captured and Hannibal couldn’t find the strength to get free, he would almost certainly die here, buried beneath the leaves and forgotten in the forest. Face would be tortured and eventually killed, after trying to lead the militia away from where his lover lay, trying to save his life with no thought of his own. Hannibal hadn’t felt this useless in a very long time, and it wasn’t something he was well equipped to handle at the best of times. And this was far from the best of times.

“Hannibal?” 

He thought he was dreaming at first, the voice was so unexpected, just a hissed whisper rather than a call. “Face?” he mumbled, and then suddenly the leaves were being swept away and he found himself blinking up into the bright blue of the morning sky, his lover hovering over his body with a look of sheer concentration on his handsome face. “Thought they got you…?”

“Me? Not a chance.” Face huffed a quick, breathless laugh as he continued to lift away branches and brush leaves from Hannibal’s body. “A little diversion. Managed to get the jump on one of them, wrestled his gun away.”

“Nice work, kid.” Complete understatement, Hannibal thought to himself, watching as Face sank back onto the ground by his side, one arm wrapped loosely around his middle. Exhaustion shone clearly in his eyes, mixed with something else, something that made Hannibal frown, forgetting his own pain for a moment. “You okay?”

Those blue eyes met his for a moment and Face shrugged before looking away, reaching into the leaves with both hands and obviously searching for something. “Some bumps and bruises,” he admitted softly, before a wide smile split his face as he hauled his little backpack from its hiding place by Hannibal’s side. “Want some water?”

“Face, talk to me.” But his lover wouldn’t meet his eyes again, tugging out the nearly-empty flask of water and holding it to Hannibal’s lips as he had done before. Despite himself, Hannibal couldn’t help but drink, his body craving the cool water even as his eyes searched his lover’s face. Whatever he thought he’d almost seen was gone, though, and Face looked focussed and determined, despite his exhaustion and the filth covering his pale skin. Hannibal must have been imagining it, his shaken mind playing tricks on him in the morning light. 

Eventually, when he had drank his fill and Face had sipped a little as well, blue eyes met Hannibal’s once more. “We should get moving while the going’s good,” Face said quietly, smiling down at him as he lay helpless. “Don’t know how long I’ll have distracted them for, though now its light I’m hopeful there might be a search party on the way to us.” 

“Just hide me again and go,” Hannibal tried weakly, though he knew in his heart it was pointless. “You can find them quicker without having to drag me, and lead them back here.”

Face just shook his head, jaw firm with determination. “Together or not at all,” he murmured, leaning down with a soft grunt to press his lips to Hannibal’s ever so briefly. A promise, Hannibal could tell, a promise of escape and rescue and better things to come, once they got out of this mess.

Without another word, Face rolled carefully to his knees before pushing slowly up to his feet. His boy had to be exhausted, Hannibal knew, after a sleepless night spent hauling him through the forest, doubling back to try and hide their trail, on edge in case the militia caught up with them both. And of course he’d have a few bumps and bruises of his own from the crash. “You’re doing well, Lieutenant,” he told Face, putting as much strength as he could muster into his words, as Face leaned down to take hold of his stretcher once more.

That got him a cheeky wink and a wide smile, his boy’s face lighting up for a second. “Learned from the best, Colonel, sir.”

And it was all Hannibal could do to keep from screaming as Face lifted him up and started the endless job of dragging him through the forest once more. He could tell his boy was trying to be as gentle as he could, and truthfully it was a fairly smooth trail on a well-constructed stretcher, but as each movement sent waves of pain shooting up and down the left side of his body, he drifted into a semi-conscious haze and faded out yet again. 

* * *

The morning seemed impossibly long, the scenery never changing, and Hannibal found himself wishing strongly that he’d taken Face up on the offer of just being knocked out. He drifted in and out of a pain-filled sleep, somehow managing not to scream out loud even when his stretcher was bounced over a branch or into a pot-hole. He knew his boy was doing the very best he could, but the agony still threatened to drive him out of his mind at times.

Thankfully, Face seemed to be alert to Hannibal’s state of consciousness and level of pain. Almost as if his lover could read his mind, just when Hannibal was about to give in and beg for a moment of rest and stillness, Face would lower him gently to the ground and disappear back into the forest to cover up their tracks as best he could. Each time, Hannibal used the precious minutes alone to try to pull himself back together, trying to force the pain back down to a bearable level, trying to lull himself back into a deeper sleep before Face returned and they would have to start moving once again. 

Above him, the view between the tree-tops never varied, except for the sky growing brighter and the sun rising higher as the morning dragged on. From time to time, Face would stumble on the uneven ground and immediately apologise for jostling Hannibal, his voice rough with exhaustion, and Hannibal forced himself to reply, reassuring his boy as best he could while still feeling as pathetic as he ever had. Where the hell were the rescue party?

As midday approached, Face stumbled again, swearing softly and grunting in discomfort, and Hannibal snapped out of a light doze as he was unexpectedly lowered back to the ground – it seemed barely a few minutes since his boy had last slipped back to cover their tracks. “Shit…” Face breathed, stretching his arms and shoulders carefully with a tired wince. “Won’t need to do any bench-pressing for weeks…”

Swallowing hard to keep the agony away for another minute, Hannibal forced a smile. “Too heavy for you, kid? Regretting not burying me in leaves while you had the chance?”

Face laughed in response, though it was a tired, pathetic laugh, completely unlike his usual joyful bark. “What’s the old song, boss?” he asked as he practically collapsed to the forest floor by Hannibal’s side, one hand on the ground and one on his stomach. “He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother?”

“If I’m your brother, Face, then a lot of what we do together in our free time is very wrong indeed.” Hannibal expected another laugh from his lover, but instead Face just smiled before reaching into his backpack for the water, swaying a little where he sat. He was clearly pale and drained beneath the dirt smudged across his face, and Hannibal frowned slightly despite his pain. “Why don’t you rest for a few minutes, Temp?” he suggested quietly. “I can listen out for anyone coming; you’ve got to be exhausted. How are the bumps and bruises?”

Face paused before he spoke. “Sore,” he murmured after a second had passed, offering Hannibal a half-smile. “But I’m good, boss, really. I can rest when we get back to base. After I get you to the medics, and take the world’s longest shower.” Face held the flask up, shaking it slightly and frowning. “We’re about out of water, though. I thought I saw signs of a river last time I backtracked – maybe I should go check it out.”

The day was growing steadily hotter as the sun rose higher, though thankfully the canopy of trees kept them both mostly in the shade. Hannibal couldn’t deny he was very thirsty, though, and Face needed water as much as he did, if not more, since he was the one doing all the work. Still – “It can wait ten minutes, kid. Sit still, or better, lie down for a while and close your eyes. I’ll wake you if I hear anything, I promise. There’s hasn’t been any sign of the militia for the last couple of hours or so, right?”

“Actually…” Face looked apologetic, dropping a tender hand into Hannibal’s hair, stroking gently though carefully avoiding the throbbing lump behind his left ear. “I’m almost sure I heard them the last time I went back. Still far enough away, but headed in this direction.”

“Shit.” Hannibal didn’t question why his boy hadn’t told him. Nothing either of them could do, not really, unless Face felt like chancing his luck with another distraction. “So, fetch some water and keep right on going, huh?”

“Sounds like a plan to me, John.” Face kept stroking Hannibal’s hair for another moment, though, a tired smile hovering on his lips. “But maybe I should hide you, just in case.” 

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” Hannibal grumbled, though secretly the thought of lying flat and still for a few more minutes was almost a dream come true, if he could forget about the militia hunting them. A chance to let his pain truly settle back down. Perhaps he could be of some help to his boy if he just rested for a few minutes and got his strength back.

But a look of distress ghosted across his lover’s pale and dirty features, before Face clearly had to haul himself to his feet, flinching slightly as he turned to gather fallen branches and leaves once more, making short work of covering Hannibal’s injured body. “Nothing about this I’m enjoying, boss,” Face told him softly, as he draped a last leafy branch over Hannibal’s face, hiding the blue sky from view for the time being. “Not one single thing.”

“Stay safe, kid,” Hannibal mumbled as he heard Face’s light footsteps vanishing off into the forest, and he was left alone with only the distant birdsong for company. Heaving a soft sigh, letting the leaves settle around him, he was determined to stay awake until his boy returned. But once again his traitorous mind and body had other ideas, and he found himself struggling to stay alert, the warmth of the sun soothing some of his agony. Soon, despite his best intentions, he couldn’t fight it any longer and gave into the lure of sleep, the bright sun fading to darkness. 

* * *

Flask refilled and tracks hidden, Face had been as quick as he could in returning to Hannibal’s side before getting them underway once more. Turned out, he had been right to be worried about the militia. Hannibal heard the gunshots first, startling him out of a pain-filled haze, long before he heard the angry shouts and jeers, coming from behind them but getting closer and louder with every passing minute. His boy didn’t spare the breath to comment, clearly trying to pick up speed as he continued to drag Hannibal’s stretcher through the forest. He’d been stumbling more as the hours passed, but now his feet fell sure on the narrow trail they were following, and the trees started blurring above Hannibal as he gritted his teeth against the renewed pain of faster movement. 

“Leave me, Lieutenant,” Hannibal grunted, immediately gasping as a sharp spike of pain from his hip whited out his vision for just a second. “Hide me and go.”

“Shut up, Colonel,” Face hissed back at him, not even pausing as he suddenly veered off the trail, heading deeper into the trees, low-level branches scratching at Hannibal’s face. 

More gunshots – Hannibal could only assume the militia were firing into the air, trying to intimidate them or scare them into surrendering. A stupid waste of ammo, but fully in keeping with what the Rangers knew about them. They were definitely growing closer, now, the angry shouts almost clear enough to make out precise words, though he was sure they would only be saying what they had before. Death to the Americans. Death to Hannibal and his brave boy.

And then, a wonderful and familiar sound from above, drowning out the cries and shooting from the militia. Hannibal strained his gritty eyes to see through the thicker trees above him, just as a distinctive shadow passed overhead. “Chopper!”

“Thank fuck,” he thought he heard his boy mumble, but Face’s words were unclear in the sudden rustling of the leaves as the downdraft from the helicopter passed over them. In the next moment, Hannibal’s body jolted slightly in his bonds as Face suddenly stopped dragging his stretcher, lowering him swiftly to the ground and dropping to one knee by his side, pale face tense and excited. “I have to get to a clearing, set off a flare,” he said quickly, every tired muscle in his body clearly ready to move.

“Then go, kid.” But Face paused one moment longer, filthy fingers stroking Hannibal’s cheek just once, tired blue eyes flashing in the dappled sunlight through the trees. “Hurry back to me.”

“Always,” Face murmured, nodding once before grabbing at the branches and bushes around them, hiding Hannibal from sight once more. His wide smile was the last thing Hannibal saw before his vision was blocked yet again by dry leaves and twigs. 

As the cacophony of sounds grew around him, Hannibal had an odd moment of disorientation, buried beneath leaves and surrounded by the smells of dirt and vegetation. The gunshots and shouts of the militia continued to grow closer, drowning out the sounds of the birdsong and the wind in the trees, while the sounds of the helicopter grew quieter at first before getting steadily louder again as they presumably spotted Face’s flare. All Hannibal could do now was wait and pray that their rescuers found them before the militia did. 

Despite his injuries, despite the pain and exhaustion running through his veins, he found himself wishing for a gun for the first time since that explosion had sent their jeep flying over the side of the cliff. His right hand opened and closed almost reflexively, searching for cold steel but finding only twigs. Hannibal hated feeling vulnerable, and right then he felt very much alone, though hopefully Face would return quickly.

The minutes dragged on though, and still no one came for him. The sounds of random gunshots soon turned into the more concentrated firing of a stand-off, and the shouts came from two different directions, both ahead and behind the point where Hannibal lay, concealed in the undergrowth. Face was with the rescue team, no doubt, scaring the militia back to whatever hole they crawled out of. No way those armed peasants would be a match for the might of the US Army, and Hannibal felt a smug grin creep over his face even as his body screamed in pain once more as he shifted ever so slightly. God, he hoped they’d brought a medic with them – the sweetness of a morphine-fuelled sleep sounded like heaven right now, and Face would finally be able to stop dragging him through the forest and get some well-earned rest.

It didn’t take long, in the end. For a few minutes, all he could hear was gunfire and then, suddenly, nothing. The silence seemed wrong after the fighting, but the ringing in Hannibal’s ears could have been from his head injury as much as from the shooting, blocking out the sounds of the militia’s retreat. Still lying beneath his warm blanket of branches, he strained to pick up the sound of anyone coming for him, hoping to hear Face calling his name, but the voice that eventually came wasn’t the one he wanted.

“Colonel Smith?” American, at least, rather than Spanish. Not militia, thankfully. “Sir, can you hear me?”

“Under here!” Gritting his teeth, Hannibal forced his arm to lift from the stretcher, pushing through the leaves and waving weakly even as the effort causing his injuries to throb again with pain, his left hip screaming and sending renewed waves of agony through his battered body. 

“Got you, Colonel!” The voice was closer now, and Hannibal could hear several sets of footsteps pushing quickly through the forest to his side. “Just like hide and seek – there you are!” 

The leaves and branches were quickly swept away, and Hannibal found himself blinking up into the face of a grinning young soldier. “About damn time…” he mumbled, forcing a smile of his own, even as his eyelids were suddenly very heavy and his arm dropped limply back to his side.

“Get Jimmy over here,” the soldier called over his shoulder, before casting his eyes over Hannibal’s limp body, tied to the stretcher as he was. “The medic’s coming, Colonel. Just sit tight and we’ll have you sorted in no time.”

“Face?” Hannibal managed to ask, even as the last of his strength was slipping away from him, blackness creeping around the edges of his vision yet again. Safe now, they were safe at last.

A confused frown appeared on the boy’s face for the briefest second before he smiled again, nodding, even as he started undoing the straps that held Hannibal secure. “You mean Lieutenant Peck, Sir? He’s safe, he’s back with the rest of the team. Told us exactly where to find you.” 

“Saved my life…” But his whisper clearly wasn’t heard as another group of soldiers crashed into the bushes where Hannibal lay, their medic dropping to his knees by Hannibal’s side and proceeding to make a quick assessment of his condition.

Hannibal couldn’t keep in his gasps and moans as the medic ran careful hands over his head and body, finding the head injury and recognising the improvised brace around his pelvis, the splint on his leg. The world spun sickeningly around him as the man touched his left hip, and the jumble of voices faded to a dull hum, even though Hannibal fought hard to keep his eyes open a little longer, wanting desperately to see his boy again even though he knew Face would probably have to stay back. 

At last Hannibal heard the words he had longed to hear. “I’m gonna give you a shot before we move you, sir,” the medic told him, leaning down over him and trying to catch his eye. “You’re gonna be just fine. Next time you open your eyes, you’ll be in a nice clean hospital bed, okay?”

“Sounds good,” he slurred, feeling reality already slipping away from him. He’d see Face back at the base, he figured, and then he’d have the chance to tell his lover just how proud of him he was. He didn’t even feel the sting of the needle in his arm – he was already asleep before the morphine hit his system. 

* * *

Comfortable, soft bed. Cool sheets over his body. The kind of blissed out, sleepy haze that could only come from some really good drugs. All seemed right with the world, and Hannibal was reluctant to open his eyes to reality, tempted to slip straight back to sleep rather than trying to wake up all the way.

All around him were the sadly familiar sounds of a hospital ward, the soft beep of a heart monitor close by, then the sound of footsteps before a soft voice spoke. A female voice, rather than the one he had expected to hear. “Colonel Smith? Are you awake, sir?”

“Apparently,” he mumbled, blinking his eyes open to see who was speaking. He was definitely on the good drugs – the room span around him once before he was able to focus on the brunette nurse hovering by his bedside, though he was pleased to find there was no pain at all, for the first time in what seemed like forever. “Where am I?” he asked her, eyes roaming the room in search of Face. He was on a hospital ward, he realised, though fewer than half the beds were occupied. No sign of his boy.

“Delta base, Sir.” The nurse smiled at him before lifting her eyes to check over the monitors Hannibal now realised he was attached to. That heart monitor was his after all. “The rescue team brought you and Lieutenant Peck here after they found you. Do you remember everything that happened?”

He thought for a brief moment before replying, “Yeah.” Everything was hazy, still, but he thought he could remember everything they’d been through. The jeep rolling down the hill. Face dragging him from the jeep, then dragging him through the forest, keeping him safe and hidden. The rescuers finally finding him, safely hidden where his boy had left him. “Where’s Face?” Surely his lover should have been right by his side, waiting for him to wake up, exhausted and filthy still but ready with a smile. Hannibal couldn’t understand where his boy could be – if their positions were reversed, he wouldn’t have moved from Face’s side until he woke up.

The smile slipped away from the nurse’s face, and she glanced over her shoulder before answering. Hannibal’s drugged senses went on red alert. “He’s still in surgery, Sir,” she told him softly after a long pause.

“Surgery?” Adrenaline suddenly surged through Hannibal’s body, slamming him all the way to consciousness. What was Face doing in surgery? “Was he hurt during the rescue?” he asked in confusion – gunshot wound, perhaps, during the fire-fight between their rescuers and the militia. But that soldier had said he was safe, he was fine…

The nurse shook her head. “Abdominal trauma, Colonel, presumably from the initial crash. He was suffering from massive internal bleeding – apparently there was some damage to his stomach and liver.” She adjusted something with the IV line feeding into Hannibal’s left arm before meeting his gaze again, offering him a smile which was clearly meant to be reassuring, though Hannibal could feel his heart racing. “He’s been in there for nearly four hours now. But they’re doing everything they can for him, I promise.”

“He was hurt? That whole time, he was injured…?” Hannibal’s brain was reeling with the new information, trying to make sense of what the nurse had told him. “He never said, he… He said bumps and bruises, he said he was a little sore.” 

“I imagine he was sore. But he might not have realised how badly he was actually hurt.”

Of course Face had known, Hannibal suddenly realised as the nurse continued to fuss around his bed, adjusting his sheets, flicking a switch on one of the monitors. His boy must have known. And it all made sense – all the times he’d seen his lover wince, how pale he’d been, how he’d refused to stop and rest. That arm he kept wrapping around his stomach whenever he thought Hannibal hadn’t been watching him. “Oh Face,” he breathed, letting his eyes slip closed, the drugs pulling at him even as a terrible guilt washed over him. “You should have told me…”

“How bad is your pain, Colonel?” 

It took a moment for the question to filter through to Hannibal’s guilt-ridden brain, and he managed to blink open his eyes again, mind still spinning. “Non-existent,” he told the nurse, surprised himself at the fact. Whatever they were giving him was working. “Really. I’m good.”

A slight frown crossed her face, almost as if she didn’t believe him. “The doctor will come by in a bit and talk you through your injuries,” she said eventually. “But you’ve been very lucky. Mild head trauma with a minor concussion, and severe bruising to your left hip and thigh.”

“Bruising? Not broken?”

“Not broken,” she confirmed with a nod. “Deep bruising, down to the bone. You’ll be off your feet and flat on your back for a couple of weeks, then you’ll need some physical therapy after that, but you’ll make a full recovery in time.”

“And Face?” Hannibal could care less about his own bruises, when his lover was apparently in surgery. Had been in surgery for four long hours, while Hannibal slept through everything. Oblivious. 

“I’ll make sure someone keeps you informed, Sir.” 

“I need to see him.” Hannibal tried to sit up, but found he could barely lift his head off the pillow – probably just as well, he thought, though the nurse moved her hands to his shoulders just in case, pushing him gently back into the mattress. 

“Lie still, Colonel Smith, or I’ll get the doctor to come and sedate you again.” A warning note in her voice, and Hannibal found he had no choice but to obey, his body still as useless as it had been while his suffering lover had dragged him to safety through a forest crawling with enemy militia. Adrenaline could only get him so far. The nurse seemed to realise he wasn’t going to fight her, and she removed her hands from his shoulders before smoothing gently over his sheets once more. “I’ll go find out what’s happening for you,” she murmured, and Hannibal could only nod his thanks as she left his side.

The drugs coursing through his system were still threatening to pull him back into sleep, but Hannibal couldn’t allow that, not now, not until Face was out of surgery. Why hadn’t his boy told him? He must have known – they’d been out in that forest overnight and one endless morning, probably at least sixteen hours, and Face must have known he was in trouble, must have been in so much pain. He must have been so determined to hide it from Hannibal, not wanting to worry him, and perhaps Hannibal could understand that – nothing either of them could do for internal injuries. No first aid that would have helped, not in the circumstances they had found themselves in, having to keep one step ahead of that damn militia, and with Hannibal barely able to move. 

But still the guilt threatened to overwhelm him, despite knowing there was nothing he could have done differently, even if he had known. After twenty minutes or so, the doctor came as promised and put Hannibal through his paces, asking all the usual questions they asked after a concussion – what’s your name, what’s the date, who’s the president. Hannibal went through the motions mechanically, watching out for the nurse the whole time. 

The doctor talked at Hannibal about his recovery, about the need for rest, about a million other things Hannibal just tuned out as he kept watching, waiting. What was taking her so long? Surely Face hadn’t – No, that wasn’t even worth considering. Face would be fine. The doctor eventually left, and then, finally, the nurse reappeared from the far end of the ward. Hannibal had always considered himself a good study of body language, and he felt the tight knot in his chest relax a fraction as she finally reached his beside, a cautious smile on her face.

“He’s out of surgery, Sir, and in recovery.” 

Hannibal released the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. “He’s going to be okay?” 

She nodded, resting her hand gently over Hannibal’s. “He’s out of danger. They’ll be taking him to the ICU soon.”

“I need to see him.” Before she could do more than shake her head, he told her, “He saved my life. Even though he was injured, he saved my life. And he never told me he was hurt, never complained once. I have to see him. Please.”

She heaved a sigh, pursing her lips. Hannibal counted to twenty before she spoke again, a note of understanding in her voice. “You can’t exactly move right now, Sir. But let me see what I can do. Be patient.”

Patience was never Hannibal’s strong suit, especially when he was flying high on whatever miracle-working painkillers they were pumping through his IV, and even more so when he needed to get to his boy. The thought of Face lying alone and in pain, fresh out of surgery, was almost more than Hannibal could bear. It seemed like hours before two porters finally arrived at his bedside and, under the guidance of that brunette nurse, he found his bed being wheeled through the ward, out through the double-doors into the corridors, and finally through another set of doors into a quieter ward, softer lighting and fewer beds. The intensive care ward, he realised, feeling his heart start to beat a little faster, and he tried again to lift his head, looking for his boy.

And there he was. The porters pushed his bed alongside, careful not to disturb any of the monitors and machines surrounding the ICU bed, and Hannibal finally saw his lover once more. Face was so very pale, dark smudges under his closed eyes, an oxygen mask in place over his mouth and nose. At least two IV lines Hannibal could see, one with clear fluids and one containing blood. A transfusion. So many wires attached to his still body, so many monitors, but he was alive. Not caring about the nurse hovering at the end of their beds, the porters already forgotten, Hannibal forced his arm to move, to reach out across the gap between their beds, groping blindly until his fingers finally closed around his boy’s hand.

“I’m here,” he whispered under his breath, and those bright blue eyes he loved so much blinked open, Face managing to roll his head on the pillow until they were looking at each other again. Pain in his lover’s eyes, yes, and the same drugged haze Hannibal could feel himself, but Face managed to wrap his fingers around Hannibal’s, a weak smile appearing for just a second before it was gone again.

“Sorry, boss…” Face slurred from beneath his oxygen mask, blinking heavily, and Hannibal frowned, managing to tighten his hold on his boy, wishing he could sit up, wishing he could take his lover in his arms and kiss him soundly. None of that was even remotely an option, sadly, given the state he was in as well as the army hospital in which they lay, but he could offer Face some comfort and reassurance at least.

“You saved my life,” he told his boy as firmly as he could, as the quiet beeps of the ICU equipment filled the air. “Don’t ever apologise for that, Lieutenant. I’m so proud of you, kid. We’re both going to be fine, I promise.”

Hazy blue eyes met his and Face nodded once before his head rolled limply back onto the pillows, the drugs pulling him back under. Hannibal felt the same pull, and knew he didn’t need to fight it anymore. Face would be fine, they would both be fine, though they would have some serious talking to do once they were both more recovered. And Hannibal fell asleep right there, lying beside his lover on separate hospital beds, holding his boy’s hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a birthday gift for Panda77777, who loves the angst!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Aches And Pains](https://archiveofourown.org/works/958389) by [loves_books](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books)




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